


Remembering the Day I Died

by elisi



Series: Not the Last [8]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3199013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the Seeker's first regeneration. (The Doctor goes to see the Seeker, post- and pre-TWoRS.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering the Day I Died

The suns were shining, coffee was brewed, and it was yet another lovely day on the most beautiful planet in the universe.

Of course the Seeker was biased, but as he carried the coffee pot out into the garden and put it down on the little table, he felt very pleased. Three years into his second body, he was now more comfortable with himself than he’d ever been; growing up he’d been saddled with his father’s face, and all the issues of growing up on Earth amongst mortals. And even though he’d run away to the stars as soon as he could, the ties had been harder to cut… All the compromises that had torn him apart had never quite healed as they should.

But now - with his hair the colour of the burnt orange sky above, and his new self sharp like a crystal - he finally felt like he truly knew who he was.

Hearing the sound of the Doctor’s TARDIS he sighed resignedly, and went to fetch another cup, as well as the sugar bowl and a selection of buns and biscuits. He hadn’t seen the Doctor since his regeneration, and considering how unhappy he’d been at the time, he wasn’t surprised that the Doctor had kept away. Although there had been something… odd about that day.

> _“Seeker!” The Doctor had been all arms and worried panic. “Quickly! I need you. Earth…”_
> 
> _He’d looked up from his work, sighing and dragging a hand through his blonde hair (temples going silver, but it was hard to tell)._
> 
> _“Earth is in grave danger, as it always is. Don’t you have companions? That married couple, I… Forget their names. Or River? Or Jack, since he is **on** Earth! Or the Redjay - she’s terribly heroic. Or… anyone who isn’t me?”_
> 
> _The Doctor had walked up to him then, laying a hand on his arm, and imploring him quietly:_
> 
> _“Seeker. Please.”_
> 
> _He’d never been able to pin-point what the look in the Doctor’s eyes had meant, but it had been such that he’d left his work and gone to save the world._

This time, the Doctor was thankfully far less manic. As a matter of fact he didn’t say much except a non-committal ‘Good morning’ and ‘The garden is looking nice’, and then sat down with his cup of coffee and the biscuits, not speaking for nearly five whole minutes.

When he eventually broke the silence, he was almost hesitant.

“How long has it been… since…?”

He waved his hand vaguely towards the Seeker, and the Seeker suppressed a second sigh.

“Since-” (you got me killed?) “-the new face? Three years.”

__

> _
> 
> It wasn’t like the Seeker had a running tally of Bad Days (not officially at least), but so far this one was on its way to a Top Ten slot. The Doctor - as always - had leapt in armed with nothing but a screwdriver, and his fast-talking had only resulted in some brave idiots getting killed, and then - when they’d finally confronted the leader of the invasion, the typical moustache twirling evil overlord wannabe type whom his father could have eaten for breakfast - the result had been that the Doctor got knocked out, leaving the Seeker as the only thing standing between Earth and destruction.
> 
> He hated it with every single fibre of his being.
> 
> He had no resources, no plans, and his particular brand of genius wasn’t good at improvising in the way the Doctor’s was. The two of them were currently trapped behind a decidedly deadly force field - the leader had demonstrated how it worked by throwing another prisoner at it. The scream still rang in the Seeker’s ears.
> 
> And there was no way out; no way to switch it off. Glancing from the Doctor’s lifeless form slumped on the floor next to him, he lifted his eyes to study the leader (he’d dubbed him Ming the Merciless in his mind) who was now finalising his battle plans. There were mere minutes left, if that. (Of course Torchwood or UNIT might blow the ships out of the sky, but he wasn’t getting his hopes up. They were very well shielded. Besides, that would still mean his own and the Doctor's deaths.)
> 
> If only he’d had a weapon… He gritted his teeth. If only he’d had a weapon, he wouldn’t have ended up in this situation in the first place, as Ming would by now have been well and truly dead. He filed the thought away for later. Right now he - unfortunately for him - had a world to save.
> 
> Eliminating the impossible, he concentrated on the possibilities left to him. Meaning there was only one viable option by now.
> 
> (And the day went to Number Four on his list.)
> 
> Deep breath.
> 
> (It’s only excruciating, intense, molecular-level pain that awaits you… And a whole new self. All because of lack of planning.)
> 
> Shooting the unconscious Doctor one last, angry look, he vowed to never be caught in a situation like this again. No matter how much the Doctor pleaded.
> 
> Thankfully it was easy getting Ming the Merciless’ attention, as he had - like the idiotic stereotype he clearly did his best to emulate - a very inflated sense of his own importance and the attendant tendency to talk up his own brilliance, especially to captured enemies.
> 
> Pleased that his prisoners were now willing to talk, Ming walked right up the force field, smirking.
> 
> “One word from me, and the planet burns!” he said haughtily - and those were his last words.
> 
> Reaching out **through** the force field the Seeker grabbed him, pulling him close. Ming - desperate - tried to pull back, but the Seeker held on, the two of them caught in the middle of the force field, the energy ripping both of them apart in a moment that seemed to go on forever.
> 
> (His last thoughts were: ‘Never again!’ and: ‘Ginger! Just to piss off the Doctor, let me be ginger! Brighter than the sky when the suns rise, brighter than fire! **Ginger**!’)
> 
> The pain was so intense that the world ceased to have meaning, as if his very soul had been thrown into a furnace.
> 
> (He was pure energy. He was **between** , neither alive or dead. He was eternal and forever and all of time and space existed within him)
> 
> And then he was once more standing - feet on a floor, eyes that could see, a self that was **just him** , bright and clear and focussed like a laser…
> 
> After a second of trying to quite simply work out where he was and what was happening, he noticed that he was on the right side of the force field (as he’d hoped) and immediately sprang into action, the now-dead leader’s minions shrinking back in fear and awe.
> 
> ‘Should have counted the hearts’ he thought to himself wryly, whilst swiftly familiarising himself with the ship’s systems and technology, before undoing the destruction codes, overriding various fail-safes and letting the weapons self-destruct safely.
> 
> As an afterthought he took down the force field, and seconds later - as he was carefully setting the ship’s course straight for The Shadow Proclamation with a full report on the day’s events - he suddenly found himself wrapped up in the Doctor’s arms, the joy and relief he radiated so overwhelming it almost tripped the Seeker up.
> 
> “You did it! Seeker - you saved the world!”
> 
> The Doctor kissed him on the forehead before studying his new face, beaming all over to such a degree that the Seeker felt downright unnerved. The Doctor saved a world on at least a weekly basis, why such vehement and vicarious celebration? (What was he hiding? And why? Or was it himself over-interpreting things because of his new senses/body, the Doctor’s regular enthusiasm and fervour coming across as exaggerated?)
> 
> Shoving the queries to one side, he fixed the Doctor with a cool, unblinking stare.
> 
> “Am I ginger?” he asked, and the Doctor briefly let his eyes travel upwards.
> 
> “... Yes. Very much so.”
> 
> He smiled for the first time with his new face, feeling the strange new angles of his cheekbones, and knowing that it was sharp and precise and uncompromising.
> 
> “Good.”
> 
> _

  
In the three years since then he’d adjusted very well to his new temperament, swiftly updating his wardrobe to something more stylish and well-tailored, and casting around for something new to sink his teeth into. Something _bigger_.

His father had practically purred the first time he’d seen his new face and attendant outfit, but he couldn’t care less. He’d spent two hundred years deliberately distancing himself from both his father and the Doctor - now, he just wanted to be himself. And if his father happened to like it… Well he was sure he could use that to his advantage.

Now, sitting with their coffee in the balmy sunshine, the Seeker couldn’t help wonder why the Doctor had stopped by. But if it was to check up on him, the Doctor kept his opinions to himself. He didn’t comment on the Seeker’s crisp white shirt, sharply pressed trousers and exquisitely tailored navy coat (quite the contrast to the jeans and T-shirts he’d lived in before), merely nodding to himself before saying: “And you’re… OK?”

“Never been better,” the Seeker replied, watchful.

“I suppose you’re curious about... “ the Doctor seemed to catch himself, frowning and pulling his mildly unnerving trick of letting his thousand-plus years show, ancient eyes watching him from a youthful face. He folded his hands over his stomach, and the Seeker half-expected him to pull out a pipe. The young/old dichotomy was downright bizarre sometimes.

“You tell me,” the Seeker said, unsure where the Doctor was going with this. Although his next words were not what he’d expected.

“Well. I was going to die,” the Doctor started, and the Seeker’s hand paused on his cup. As the Doctor kept talking, the Seeker forgot all about his coffee, and by the time he’d finished the tale, both their drinks had gone stone-cold.

Having listened attentively, the Seeker still found it difficult to try to wrap his mind around what he’d heard. (How the Doctor had gotten out of the fix was genius - but the fix itself…)

“So… You were going to be killed. By this Silence organisation - religion, whatever. And you were just going to go and not tell anyone? Were you out of your _mind_?”

The Doctor studied him for a long time.

“If you had known would you have done anything? It’s a fixed point.”

There was a pause. A small brightly coloured bird landed on the table and began to eat the crumbs the Doctor had scattered.

“I don’t know.” (He loved the Doctor dearly, but he would not break time for him. Was that cold? Was that why the Doctor hadn’t said anything? Because he knew the Seeker would have looked at it objectively, so there was no point... ) “But you could at least have said goodbye.”

“I did.”

> _He’d stepped out of the Doctor’s TARDIS and onto the firm ground of his own planet with enormous relief. He needed time, now - time to adjust and work out who he had become._
> 
> _“Bye Doctor,” he said, unable to think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t be angry. Dying had not been on his itinerary that morning… Next time he regenerated he’d make sure to plan better. (A nice, clean suicide once he began getting on. Preferably in a zero room. And no world-saving to do the second he was on the other side of the fire and the pain. His head by now felt like it was swimming.)_
> 
> _“Alex,” the Doctor said, and he’d turned, surprised. No one had called him that in at least a century._
> 
> _“You did well. I’m... very proud of you. Please - always remember that.”_
> 
> _The Doctor had reached out, cradling his cheek, studying him intently. Again he felt that something was off - something he couldn’t put his finger on._
> 
> _“Thank you, I will,” he answered, hesitantly, and the Doctor had smiled, looking proud (like he’d said) but also terribly sad, and the Seeker was getting close to actually freaking out. (Maybe the Doctor was feeling guilty for getting him killed, but - being the Doctor - he wasn’t able to vocalise something so personal?)_
> 
> _“If Gallifrey could see you now...” the Doctor eventually said, voice soft, and the Seeker told himself that it had to be guilt, because otherwise he didn’t have a clue what was going on. Then the Doctor let his hand fall:_
> 
> _“Goodbye.”_
> 
> _“Goodbye Doctor.”_
> 
> _Quietly the Doctor shut the TARDIS door, and then the blue box faded away from the Seeker’s courtyard._
> 
> _For a moment he closed his eyes, then turned and pushed open the door to his house. He needed a mirror. And some coffee. And at least a year of not seeing a single living soul._

“Right. Yes, you said goodbye. You failed to mention that you were going off to be executed-”

The Seeker stopped, mid-sentence, the whole thing (the Doctor’s appointment with death, the world-saving and his own regeneration) suddenly slotting together into a seamless whole, the whys and wherefores fitting with perfect finality.

“You were auditioning me. _Testing_ me! Seeing whether I could be trusted to look after the world after you were gone.”

The Doctor didn’t refute his claim, merely lowering his eyes.

“I had to be sure.”

The Seeker could feel his jaw drop in outrage. He’d been angry before at the carelessness, although he’d helped out often enough to know that it was simply par for the course. But this? Deliberate manipulation to check his moral credentials was… Insulting on a level he found hard to vocalise.

“Well I bloody well _died_ for your little experiment! I hope I passed. Was it even real? I can assure you that my pain was.”

The Doctor at least had the decency to look hurt at his words.

“Of course it was real. It’s always real. Seeker - you saved the world.”

At his words the Seeker felt his new face shut down into a cold mask, the anger like a shell around him:

“Oh yes. I’m a real hero.”

__

> _
> 
> Jack’s face had been a picture when he’d materialised in the Hub.
> 
> “Who are you? What are you doing here? Hey- Stop! Don’t touch that!”
> 
> He’d stopped (Torchwood’s experiments and equipment tended to be too volatile for his liking anyway), and tilted his head.
> 
> “It’s only me, Jack. Had a change of face.”
> 
> Jack had done what might be the world’s longest double-take.
> 
> “Seeker?”
> 
> “The one and only.”
> 
> “But how? I mean when? I mean how? What happened?”
> 
> He’d still been angry (it had only been three days, and although the face was nice, the sheer waste and stupidity of the whole situation was still infuriating) so he’d shaken his head.
> 
> “I’ll explain later. Right now, I want something of mine. Something I asked you to look after a very long time ago.”
> 
> It had taken a moment, then Jack had worked it out.
> 
> “You want your father’s laser screwdriver.”
> 
> “ **My** laser screwdriver.”
> 
> Sensing Jack’s hesitation, he’d smiled bitterly.
> 
> “Don’t worry. I’m a real hero now - I died saving the world.”
> 
> _

  
He could feel the reassuring heft of the laser now as it nestled in his inside pocket, wondering if the Doctor had the faintest idea what the outcome of his machinations had been.

\- Never again would he go anywhere unarmed.

\- Never again would he go anywhere unprepared.

The laser was an incredibly versatile tool, and had been built specifically as not just a weapon, but as a trigger mechanism for releasing other weapons. 

He wasn’t sure exactly how to utilise it yet, but there was time. He was quite happy to save the world again, if need be. But it’d be on his own terms, in his own way.

Telling the Doctor any of this was out of the question, obviously. Nor would the Doctor ever understand why he was so spectacularly resentful at having been turned into a hero. Thankfully hardly anyone knew.

Although he supposed he ought to take into account that the Doctor had thought he was about to go get killed by the woman he loved, who had apparently been created to be a weapon… Couldn’t have been easy for him.

(Still, there were all sorts of things he wasn’t explaining. But the Seeker could research stuff later. Why did the Silence want the Doctor dead?)

Most of all, the Doctor was still looking hurt. The Seeker sighed deeply. Despite being royally pissed off he knew the Doctor had probably just done what made the most sense to him. The Seeker had lived with the Doctor’s idiosyncrasies and hero-complexes his whole life, and although they’d never _actually_ managed to get him killed until now, he shouldn’t have been surprised really. Not that this made things any easier.

_‘If you can’t be polite, say nothing at all. If necessary change the subject.’_

His mother’s advice was still hard-wired into him, even if he was no longer very good at following it. He’d become very adept at conversational Quickstep in his first body, easily sidestepping problematic issues with smooth lines - but now it was nigh-on impossible, as if the regeneration had burned away all the soft corners. There was a bluntness to his new self that he liked, but which made moments like this quite trying.

So change of subject is was.

“Look - I’m happy you’re not dead, OK? And… apparently you got married? Congratulations. I always liked River. Although you took your time about it...”

“Thank you,” the Doctor said, seemingly a little thrown at the change in conversation (and apparent change in mood), but he readily enough grasped the new topic. The conversation flowed more naturally from then on, as they did a general catching-up session since they were more-or-less linear, and it felt good to just chat. The Seeker made more coffee and brought out some lunch, and things were... good.

When the Doctor finally left, the Seeker walked him out to the courtyard where the TARDIS was parked. Whilst talking, he'd turned everything over several times at the back of his mind. The new information had necessitated going over that day’s fateful happenings again, viewing it from the new angle. Bad planning was... a deep affront to all he valued, everything he was. But the lack of planning hadn't been the Doctor's (although that was his usual MO) - no, there had been planning aplenty, and on a much deeper level than the Seeker had suspected. He’d had an insubstantial hunch at the time, but nothing more, and was now left with what could only be described as grudging admiration.

As the Doctor said his goodbyes, the Seeker avoided the obligatory hug by instead taking the Doctor’s hand and holding it firmly, catching and holding his eyes.

"Doctor. I just wanted to say..." He hesitated, trying to find the right words; then: "Well played. I was outwitted, outclassed, out-foxed and outmanoeuvred. I’m too cocky by half, and this was a timely reminder that you have nearly a thousand years on me when it comes to manipulation and underhanded tactics. I have a lot to learn.”

The Doctor looked stumped.

"I didn't-"

"Oh yes you did. Credit where credit’s due. I can’t say I’m any happier about you getting me killed than I was before, but _dammit_ , I’m impressed. So please - don’t be a stranger. Stop by. I’m always happy to put the kettle on. OK?”

Nodding, and looking as if he was going to say something more, yet not sure what, the Doctor shuffled on the spot before seemingly catching himself, eventually saying goodbye and then leaving.

Turning and walking back into his house, the Seeker smiled, pulling the laser screwdriver out of his pocket and absentmindedly tossing it into the air and catching it again.

Interesting day so far.

The issue of permanent death wasn’t one he had thought about much - and that gave him pause. What if the Doctor _had_ been killed? He knew that on Gallifrey there had been a Matrix (and the Redjay had been severed from it when she was exiled), so no one was ever lost… And he didn’t like losing people.

He was currently preoccupied with another project, but a Matrix was an interesting idea. Filing the thought away into his mental Future Projects folder he switched on a screen in the central hub of the house, almost whistling.

He’d been caught napping once. It wouldn’t happen again.

Fin


End file.
